


You've Got a Second Chance

by RamonaDecember



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prescription Pill Abuse, author now has strong opinions on what sports inquisition members would play, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26260291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamonaDecember/pseuds/RamonaDecember
Summary: Dorian had always been resistant to getting a roommate, but when one’s father cuts them off financially after certain ‘lifestyle disagreements,’ as Halward liked to refer to them as, and picking up more tutoring only brought in so much extra cash, a man has to make do, which is how Dorian begrudgingly found himself cleaning out the second bedroom of his junk to make room for one Cullen Rutherford.If Dorian bothered to pay attention to inane things like college sports, he might have realized just who he’d taken on as a roommate, but it takes the gushing of a friend for him to learn that he's living with a former football allstar. All Cullen wants is to keep Dorian in the dark about the real reason there's a 'former' tacked on to that title, but unfortunately, Dorian had a tendency to pick and prod beyond the point of comfort.
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	You've Got a Second Chance

**Author's Note:**

> prompted on [tumblr](https://ramonadecember.tumblr.com/post/628196940023250944/for-the-angst-list-31-is-being-high-all-the) with “Is being high all the time worth losing everything?” + “If I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop." and what was supposed to be a quick fill has turned into a two chapter fic.  
> inspired in part by a conversation from like a year ago on the cullrian discord.
> 
> title in specific reference to daughter's song [Medicine](https://youtu.be/sVHUN8LYbPI).

Dorian had always been resistant to getting a roommate, even making sure he secured a single room when he’d been subjected to the dorms his Freshman year, but when one’s father cuts them off financially after certain… ‘lifestyle disagreements,’ as Halward liked to refer to them as, and picking up more tutoring only brought in so much extra cash, a man has to make do. 

Cassandra, the terse woman from his degree program—even if biochemistry was taking her down the path of forensics instead of healthcare—who’s bluntness he’d admittedly grown fond of, was the first one to suggest a viable options. During one of their study sessions, something that’d become increasingly frequent once they realized how many classes they had together and how little they cared for many others in them, Dorian was bemoaning his roommate predicament as much as he was their workload when Cassandra mentioned she knew someone looking for a place. Dorian was hesitant about what type of equally surly individual would earn Cassandra’s title of ‘best friend,’ but with few other leads and none of them gaining traction, and the initial meeting going well enough that Dorian fear he was welcoming some sort of secret axe murderer into his apartment, Dorian begrudgingly found himself cleaning out the second bedroom of his junk to make room for one Cullen Rutherford.

If Dorian bothered to pay attention to inane things like college sports or the drivel put out by the school newspaper, he might have realized just who he’d taken on as a roommate. The sports memorabilia that ended up decorating Cullen’s room wasn’t the tip off it could have been either, with Dorian only supposing that he couldn’t begrudge someone having a little bit of _school spirit_ , knowing full well he was the odd one out when it came to his lack of interest in the goings on of the football team.

As it was, what Dorian knew about Cullen after a few weeks of living together was that Cullen mostly kept to himself, he almost always had his nose to a textbook, be it spread out at the little kitchen table or at the desk in his room, and he made a damn fine cup of coffee. The last part is what made him ‘decide’ Cullen could stay. Waking up to the rich smell of the roasted beans and Cullen’s shrug of, “There’s some for you, if you’d like,” as he sipped from his own mug made it easier to forgive things like Cullen’s not so subtle reminders and sticky notes requesting Dorian pick up after himself or grab something from the store, or the looks that Cullen would throw his way when Dorian decided his friends and him needed to open another bottle of wine on a Tuesday night, despite all of them, Cullen included, having class in the morning. 

It took Josephine clutching her metaphorical pearls when Cullen happened to run into her and Dorian out on a coffee date for Dorian to learn that his roommate was not just some random meat head, but a very specific one.

“I’ve never seen you get flustered over someone like that,” Dorian remarked after quick introductions were given and Cullen went on his way. Josephine was still trying to hide her flush behind an overlarge cappuccino mug. “Over a well-organized closet or excellent use of binder tabs, sure. But over some guy?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direct that Cullen left.

“Some guy?” Josephine sounded almost offended. “That’s _Cullen Rutherford_.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? I know my roommates name.”

“Number Forty-Two?” Josephine threw up her hands when Dorian only arched an even higher eyebrow at her. “You must be joking, Dorian. His statistics are _incredible_.”

“Oh, his ‘statistics?’ Is that what we’re calling it?”

“That’s not to say he doesn’t have other remarkable features…”

“Please don’t, I have to live with him.”

“As if you haven’t already noticed.”

Rather than admit that Josephine was right—and how could she not be? A person would have to be blind not to notice gorgeous, muscly Cullen in his tight t-shirts and with his pretty blonde curls and the charming smile Dorian would like to see turn his way a little more often—Dorian tried to get them back on track. “So, ‘Number Forty-Two,’ hm? Are you telling me he plays what… football? I’ve never seen him go to practice.”

Josephine let out an exasperated sigh. “He _used_ to. You really don’t remember our first year here?” When Dorian only shrugged she went on to say, “He was a Freshman too, but they had him starting for the team anyway. His interceptions alone… Not to mention no fullback should score that much.” 

She tutted at Dorian’s snort of a laugh to that, and seeing that glazed look on his face indicating she was saying a lot of words that meant nothing to him, Josephine moved on to tell him about how Cullen had taken a bad hit near the end of last season and broke his leg. “It was… not pretty,” she grimaced. “And now...”

And now, he was no longer that star athlete, having never returned to the team. Now he was just some guy, as Dorian insisted. Just some, according to Josephine, engineering major of all things. Now he was just Dorian’s roommate, one who had horrible taste in movies but good taste when it came to his go-to Antivan takeout order, who’s quiet humming as he moved about the apartment wasn’t nearly as annoying as Dorian made it out to be, and one who Dorian would certainly be looking at differently after that day.

Now that Dorian knew, he wanted desperately to say something to Cullen. He understood not wanting to play anymore after a bad injury, but Dorian figured Cullen would still cling to the glory days and the celebrity that came even to a ‘retired’ player. Instead, while Cullen could likely still sail through college, and with a woman on each arm to boot, he chose to spend his time behind a mountain of textbooks, or even more curiously, in Dorian’s company. Josephine insisted he should let it lie, clearly it was something Cullen didn’t wish to talk about, but as was the case with a fresh cut or a dark bruise, Dorian had a tendency to pick and prod beyond the point of comfort.

It took longer than Dorian would have liked to find an opportunity to do just that. He breezed in the door one evening, and after the tedium of tutoring and his last class running late, he was ready for the weekend that was to come. Usually him heaving a huge sigh and the thud of his bag hitting the floor as soon as he walked in would have Cullen calling ‘Long day?’ from the other room, but the apartment was silent. As Dorian walked deeper into the apartment, he saw why. 

Cullen was snoozing on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes against the rays of the setting sun slanting in through the blinds, and the sight had a smile tugging at the corner of Dorian’s lips. He perched himself on the sliver of couch at Cullen’s hip, and was about to wake him when something else caught his eye. A pill bottle sat on the coffee table, and while better judgement and respect for privacy told him not to, Dorian still found himself plucking it up. The future med student in him—and not his penchant for nosiness—demanded it, he told himself.

Painkillers. That would definitely account for an impromptu nap in the living room. Dorian could let Cullen sleep it off, and sleep off whatever was hurting him, but every time Cullen fell asleep on the couch, he always woke up complaining about his neck, so Dorian didn’t think Cullen would mind when he gently nudged him awake.

When Cullen first peeled his arm back, all he did was blink up at Dorian, then an easy smile spread on his lips and he reached out to let his hand rest on Dorian’s thigh, giving a little squeeze. It wasn’t the shocking gesture that it once was. Cullen was like that sometimes, with a softness and a sort of casual affection that Dorian wouldn’t let himself read into, because it was always balanced out by the times where Cullen was short and moody and wanted nothing to do with Dorian or really anyone else for that matter. 

“You’re home.”

The warmth in Cullen’s voice did inexplicable things to Dorian and he was glad being pulled from sleep still had Cullen a little out of it so that he didn’t hear the waver in his voice when he asked, “Hungry? I do not feel like cooking, but we could order something.”

Cullen gave a few sleepy nods of his head as he pushed himself up to sitting, scrubbing at his face. “Sure, just give me a minute to wake up.”

“Those things really knock you out, huh.”

Cullen froze, his eyes flicking from Dorian to the pill bottle on the table, pills which Cullen shouldn’t have, or at the least, shouldn’t be taking anymore. The rest of his haze cleared just like that as he fumbled for an excuse. He’d at least had the sense to keep the new pills in an old prescription bottle, but that only explained away so much.

“Is the… old injury acting up?” Dorian asked carefully, giving Cullen the out he needed without even knowing what he was doing.

Cullen tried to keep the wince off his face as he nodded. He hated lying, wasn’t very good at it either, and lying to Dorian left a particularly bad taste in his mouth, so he tried to remain as honest as possible when he said, “I know I shouldn’t be taking them anymore, but.. they help.” Be it with the shooting pains in his leg that he could no longer tell if were phantom or real, when he wanted to shut his brain off for a while, or just with the itch under his skin when he’d been too long without. 

Dorian either didn’t notice Cullen was pointedly fixing his gaze anywhere else than on him, or he wasn’t bothered by it and didn’t see it for the tell that it was when it came to Cullen. He only gave Cullen’s leg—the good one—a pat and said, “I’ll grab some menus.”

Cullen snatched up the pill bottle as soon as Dorian left the room, cursing his stupidity as he shoved it into his sweatshirt pocket. These were the types of easily avoidable mistakes that would have Dorian quickly realizing that he was taking the pills for more than an every-once-in-a-while bad pain day, and then Cullen would have bigger problems. 

He thought the conversation from before dinner was over, but as the two of them crowded over the coffee table, swapping mouthfuls of the dishes they ordered, Dorian mentioned, a bit hesitantly, “Did you know I had to be told about what happened? I’m apparently the one person at this school who didn’t understand I was living with _football legend_ Cullen Rutherford. I though my I was just living with hot, blonde—“ star of one too many inappropriate dreams “—slightly uptight Cullen Rutherford.”

It was supposed to be lighthearted, and Cullen wanted to focus Dorian’s choice of 'hot' as a descriptor and the teasing smile on his lips as he knocked their shoulders together, but all Cullen could do was grimace. “It’s not something I really care to flaunt.” 

“How did it happen?” Dorian couldn’t stop the question before blurted it. It was nosy, rude even, but Dorian was dying to hear the story from Cullen himself, to hear more than the basic story that everyone else got and be let just that much more past the walls Cullen tended to throw up as soon as they started to get a little chummy with one another.

“It’s really not exciting,” Cullen insisted, but Dorian prompted him to go on anyway. Cullen still hesitates, but Dorian was looking at him with an honest amount of care, and like he wanted to know so he could know Cullen better, know another part of him—not like he was asking because he wanted to know fun bits of gossip to pass on to others. So Cullen sucked in a deep breath and explained.

Typical sports injury, particularly when you considered the position he played. A stress fracture in his tibia from the constant wear and tear of years of exercise and athletics. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it wasn’t a career-ender if taken care of. Unfortunately, Cullen didn’t take care of it. 

Cullen had taken in all the doctor had said—nothing too worrisome, ice and elevate, make appointments with a physical therapist—but then at the end, she’d mentioned that while Cullen might feel like he could push through the pain and put some weight on it, it was best to stay off of it as much as possible if he wanted it to heal properly. When Cullen later relayed to his coach what the doctor said, his coach had focused exclusively on the last part, hearing all he needed to, which was that Cullen _could_ still play, though no doctor worth their degree would suggest it. 

In the end, between Cullen’s fear of letting anyone down and the thinly veiled threats about what would happen to his scholarship if he didn’t, Cullen played on. The prescription for painkillers that the doctor gave Cullen helped make that happen, as did the additional bottles that he unquestioningly accepted from his coach. Of course, Cullen kept that part to himself.

Then one game, Cullen remembered being on his feet, trying to dodge around one of the opposing team’s players, and the next moment, he was on the ground. It had taken him a while to realize that the shout of pain he’s heard had come from him. The bone had fully broken, snapping and jutting through the skin after Cullen took that one good hit.

Dorian had lost interest in the food by that point, a series of emotions passing over his features as he listened raptly to Cullen. “Did you ever tell someone? Cullen... that’s _awful_.”

“No,” was Cullen’s immediate response, and then a softer repeat. “No.” He was going to leave it at that, but Dorian reached over, hand resting lightly over his, fingertips stroking softly over the back of his hand, and it left Cullen feeling like he needed to give something worthy of receiving this gentleness. So he let Dorian know why it was more complicated.

Cullen explained how it took some convincing, but they let him take the amount they’d offered him as a sports scholarship on the condition he played for the football team, and convert it to an academic scholarship. It was mostly thanks to Cullen’s coach. Him ‘putting in a good word’ for Cullen—or strong-arming the administration into it, really—went a lot farther than his grades, decent enough as they were. He knew that it was likely just a way for his coach to absolve himself of the guilt he felt over the hand he played in contributing to the injury, and he couldn’t tell Dorian that he understood it was also likely a way to ensure he kept his mouth shut about the pills, because regardless of anything, Cullen owed his continued place at the school to the man. 

Dorian wasn’t pleased by the answer, mumbling something that sounded a lot like the word _manipulative_ under this breath, but he let it go. Instead he tried to tease, “So the golden boy is an _intellectual_ now, hm?” 

Cullen felt relief wash over him and he forced a smile onto his lips. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Unfortunately, an academic scholarship meant meeting the requirements for such. “Which, as you can imagine, are a lot more… rigorous than for the ones they hand out to athletes. I’m... trying my best.” He was no idiot, and he loved his classes, but studying didn’t always come easy to him. It was frustrating to read and reread the same sentence only to still not be able to grasp the information. Hence all the time spent holed up in his room or at the library, glued to one of his textbooks until the words swam on the page even more than usual. 

“You know I’m a tutor. It isn’t some sort of cover, it really is my job.”

“I’ll... keep that in mind.” 

That was the end of conversation. Dorian seemed satisfied enough to drop it and instead refocus on his meal. 

They spent the rest of the evening on the couch together. Cullen questioned whether Dorian was going to go out, he had no class in the morning after all, but Dorian just shrugged and picked out another movie for them to watch. The blurb didn’t sound that interesting to Cullen, but Dorian insisted he’d enjoy it and Cullen couldn’t argue with the enthusiasm that lit up Dorian’s face. Dorian ended up falling asleep with his head on Cullen’s shoulder not halfway through anyway, but it wasn’t until the credits rolled that Cullen could bring himself to wake him. 

Dorian would swear that it was the feeling of fingertips ghosting along his cheekbone and jaw that woke him, but it had to have been a dream. He did open his eyes to Cullen’s amused expression though, and it had Dorian letting out an embarrassed groan. “Did you like it?” he asked, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Cullen gave a quiet laugh, and nodded, but he honestly wouldn’t be able to tell anyone the resolution of the movie. He’d spent the entire time studying the way the flickering light fell across Dorian’s sleeping features, getting so wrapped up in the sight that he’d actually decided to reach out and touch before accidentally rousing Dorian in the process. “It was... worth watching.”

Dorian made no attempt to sit up or move away from Cullen after that, and Cullen almost suggested they turn on one more movie in an effort to keep Dorian there a little longer, but then Dorian broke into a big yawn and a mumbled comment about how, “Living with a shut-in like you must be wearing off on me. The night is still too young for me to barely be able to keep my eyes open.” 

Cullen might have responded differently, scowling or rolling his eyes or shooting back a barb of his own, but Dorian pressed himself a little more against Cullen’s side as he said it, and maybe it was because Dorian was half asleep still, but there was an almost fondness to the words that had Cullen unable to give anything more than a hum of acknowledgment in response.

It was a far cry from the usual way Dorian tended to needle about Cullen’s, quote, ‘no fun allowed’ attitude. Most common were the scoffs and remarks when Cullen asked Dorian to keep it down or turned down an offer to go out, with comments about how it was the weekend or how Cullen should lighten up or how it would really be good for him to take a break. It was always a toss-up how these situations would play out, depending on both their moods—which in turn could fluctuate based on things like the weather or how Dorian’s hair looked that day or the number of pills Cullen had left.

Only once had it escalated into an actual shouting match. Cullen didn’t have the same luxury as Dorian of having a schedule whose weekend started on Thursdays, so when he was pulling an all-nighter to study for an exam on Friday morning, and Dorian came stumbling in at three in the morning with two of his rowdier friends, drunk, loud, and snapping Cullen’s final nerve, Cullen let Dorian know in explicit detail just what he thought of his behavior—all of his behavior since they’d moved in together—and what Cullen thought it said about him as a person. Words like self-important, entitled, and obnoxious had been thrown around. 

Dorian, not one to be outdone when it came to biting words, was quick to scoff back that some of them had lives, and that he couldn’t help it he wasn’t a loser homebody too embarrassed to show his face to anyone but a stack of textbooks now that he didn’t have something as meaningless as college football as a claim to fame. Even Dorian’s friends—a couple of guys from the club rugby team: a mountain of a man Cullen knew only as ‘Bull’ and his teammate who was always chatting with Dorian in a langue Cullen didn’t know a lick of but admittedly liked the sound of curling off Dorian’s tongue—who usually watched in amusement when the two of them bickered were casting sideways glances at each other, knowing this had gone too far.

Later, sitting on the floor, his back pressed to Cullen’s closed door, Dorian had tried to apologize. He didn’t think he was entirely wrong about what he’d said, but there was probably a much better way to go about saying it. One that didn’t end with a hurt looking Cullen storming back to his room. Cullen never responded, and eventually Dorian dragged himself back to his own room with a sigh, but it must have been apology accepted because that afternoon when Dorian finally rolled out of bed, Cullen came back from his class with lunch for the both of them. Something nice and greasy to soak up the hangover Cullen knew Dorian would have too, because of course Cullen was always considerate like that, even when Dorian wasn’t.

Dorian didn’t need to know that to try to ease the itch of irritation he’d left under Cullen’s skin, Cullen had swallowed more pills than recommended for someone who was supposed to be keeping a clear head. Cullen had fallen asleep right there at his desk, slept through the first precautionary alarm he’d set in case he decided to ‘rest his eyes’ while studying, and was still in something of a fog as he sat hunched over his test in class.

Talk of Cullen’s study habits had been less harsh after that though, and his former football career had remained a discussion topic mainly off the table. Now, after their conversation over dinner, Cullen thought that maybe Dorian understood a little better why it was such a sensitive subject.

Rather than let himself think about how fond Dorian’s teasing sounded now, or when the change had happened, he only told Dorian, “Time for bed.” 

Dorian groaned, the sound muffled from how he’d pressed his face more into Cullen’s shoulder. When he reluctantly pulled back to ask, “Is that an invitation,” an eyebrow raised suggestively before a grin cracked his face, Cullen finally did roll his eyes.

He stood, extending a hand out to Dorian to hoist him up off the couch as well, and when Dorian stumbled into him, limbs still uncoordinated from sleep, Cullen may have kept a steadying hand at Dorian’s waist longer than strictly necessary. The smile Dorian threw him over his shoulder before closing his bedroom door made a funny thing happen in Cullen’s chest, and not for the first time that day, Cullen thought he needed to be more careful around Dorian. 

Cullen wasn’t very good at that, as it turned. As the semester wore on, he found himself letting his guard down around Dorian more and more. His roommate still drove him up the wall on the best of days, annoyances ranging some inviting over unexpected guests when Cullen thought he’d have a quiet night in, to critiquing what Cullen chose to wear on a particular day, to rearranging Cullen’s careful organization of the kitchen on a whim, but still he found himself enjoying and even seeking out Dorian’s company. 

Dorian didn’t have any expectations of him, not outside of what you’d normally expect from someone you lived with, and since Cullen always paid his rent on time and contributed his fair share to groceries and utilities, Dorian had little in the way of actual complaints. He never expected Cullen to be something—not an athlete or and academic or a washed up version of either—other than a decent roommate, and it meant that Dorian was one of the few rare people that Cullen actually felt comfortable around. 

The short of it was that Cullen liked Dorian, and probably more than was advisable at that. Cullen might even call it a crush if he wasn’t so busy burying the notion down as deep as possible. It had been a while since he had any legitimate _feelings_ for someone, let alone been in a relationship with anyone. Not since he’d broke things off with his high school girlfriend Evelyn in their first year of college. She’d gone off to Ostwick, and his scholarship had taken him in the opposite direction—practically the ass-end of the Hinterlands, she’d insisted—and they both learned that absence didn’t always make the heart grow fonder. 

Not that Cullen was actually considering a relationship with Dorian. Even if Dorian wanted that—and Cullen had his doubts about the level of seriousness of Dorian’s flirting—it would be more complications than either of them needed. Cullen wouldn’t drag anyone down with how much of a mess he knew he was if he could help it. But it didn’t mean that Cullen didn’t let his thoughts wander to what it would be like on an embarrassing amount of occasions. 

Dorian’s soft touch at the small of Cullen’s back as he reached around Cullen dicing up vegetables for that night’s dinner to grab something off the counter had Cullen wishing Dorian would drape himself along his back, thoroughly distracting Cullen from any cooking with arms wrapped around him and a face buried in the crook of his neck. On the frequent times Dorian would fall asleep on a movie night with his head on Cullen’s shoulder or in his lap, Cullen imagined waking Dorian to tell him _let’s go to bed_ , and meaning _together_ , meaning that the _next_ time they woke up, it would be in each other’s arms with the sun poking in from the gaps in the curtains.

Or there was the time that Dorian insisted, at least for the third time that evening, “You really _must_ come out with us,” while taking Cullen’s face in his hands. Finals were over and they had a couple of days before Cullen packed up and headed home for Satinalia break, so Dorian figured now Cullen had no excuse to keep dodging his efforts at socializing his recluse of a roommate. Cullen’s only thoughts were on how easy it would be to step further into Dorian’s space and crane his neck just that little bit upward so he could press their lips together. 

Ultimately, Cullen would blame those thoughts and his waning capacity to say no to Dorian for being the reasons he agreed on making plans, even after warning, “I don’t really drink…” He’d learned early on that pills and alcohol didn’t mix well in him and since he never knew when he was going to need the former, Cullen tended to avoid the latter. At least any incidents of him being too fucked up before he learned his limits were explained away as Cullen being more of a lightweight than his broad build let on.

Dorian came to same conclusion of Cullen’s drinking abilities. Cullen was right—he really must not drink much—because after plying him with a few drinks, Cullen was already pink-cheeked and more loose than Dorian had ever seen him. But when Cullen threw his arm around his shoulder while they were chatting with a group of Dorian’s friends at the bar, head tilted back in an honest laugh at something Sera said, Dorian couldn’t say it wasn’t a good look on him. Nor could Dorian say he minded when later, as they stood pressed shoulder to shoulder at the bar waiting to get the bartender’s attention, Cullen leaned in close to be heard over the music, lips nearly against Dorian’s ear as he asked what Dorian wanted to drink, that the next round was on him. He swore Cullen smirked at the shiver that went through him, swore that Cullen knew exactly what he was doing to him.

After Josephine, assigning herself the designated driver for the night since she had an early flight back to Antiva for the holidays that she’d rather not be hungover for, dropped them off at their apartment, they stumbled through the door of their building teasing and shoving and making way more noise than anyone should be at such an hour, all in the name of a ‘competition’ to be the first to get to use the bathroom once they were inside. 

Dorian claimed it wasn’t fair, that Cullen had an unfair advantage barreling through people considering his sport of choice, but really he’d gotten distracted when Cullen had barely made it through their front door and was already unbuckling his belt, making it easy to shoulder by and into the bathroom while Dorian was left reeling from just how much he wanted to help strip Cullen from the rest of his layers. He stood there leaning against the wall outside the bathroom door, waiting his turn and wondering how corny it would be to tell Cullen about how the button-up shirt he’d worn that night looked amazing on him, but Dorian thought it would look even better on his bedroom floor.

He was still groaning to himself about how useless he was at flirting when it came to someone he actually cared about, and then subsequently going back through his entire history with Cullen, trying to pinpoint when Cullen had stopped simply being his hot jock roommate and become something more meaningful, when Cullen stepped back out of the bathroom.

“I didn’t think I took _that_ long,” Cullen joked. He swayed on his feet even as he grinned at Dorian and when Dorian tried to slip by and into the bathroom, hoping a closed door between them would effectively shut down the growing heat in both his cheeks and the pit of his stomach over the look Cullen was giving him, Cullen was quicker, snagging Dorian by the wrist and drawing him to a halt. 

“Thank you,” Cullen said. “For tonight. I admit I had a better time than anticipated.”

“Let it never be said that I don’t know how to show a man a good time,” Dorian drawled, ignoring the way that his heart leapt when Cullen gave the hand he was now holding a squeeze.

“Is that so?” Cullen stepped in closer, leaving nowhere for Dorian to go between him and the wall pressed to his back.

Dorian let out a nervous laugh, but the hands that were meant to push Cullen away only curled into his shirt instead, and the way he murmured out Cullen’s name was too breathy to be any indication that Cullen should stop, regardless of how much of a warning Dorian tried to make it sound like when he said, “This is a bad idea.”

“Why’s that?” Cullen’s lips were at Dorian’s ear again to the same effect they’d had at the bar.

“Because if you keep this up, I’m going to kiss you,” Dorian said matter-of-factly “And if I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop.” Dorian’s eyes slipped shut as Cullen nosed at his jaw, humming his acknowledgement but saying nothing else.

“I’ll kiss you,” Dorian continued, trying not to get distracted by Cullen’s fingers finding the hem of his shirt and slipping underneath, just barely trailing up his sides before hands settled firmly at his waist, . “And then I’ll drag you down this hallway, and I’ll push you down into my bed, and—“ He couldn’t suppress the shiver this time.

“And?”

“And we can’t have that.”

“Can’t have that,” Cullen repeated, but he made no move to step back.

Dorian cursed under his breath. Here he was with arguably the hottest guy he knew pressed against him, ready and willing, and yet he was trying to put an end to it. He wasn’t lying when he said they couldn’t, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to sink his hand into Cullen’s hair and crash their mouths together, to follow through with what he said he’d do and then some. 

For one, Cullen apparently hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t much of a drinker. He was beyond tipsy, and while they’d had moments in the past that might have possibly been described as flirty, now wasn’t the time to figure out just how serious either of them had been about it. If for no other reason than, for two, they would have to keep living with each other after. 

They could kiss, they could fuck even, and afterward, they would still be roommates. Best case scenario, there was a convenient way of scratching that particular itch right in the other room—or maybe, best case scenario was Cullen not remembering any of this—but it was just as likely that it could wreck everything. Likely, the best that could be hoped for was that things would be awkward come morning, and that maybe, eventually, they’d get over it. Dorian really didn’t like the prospect of having to look for a new roommate when they came back after Satinalia. No one would compare to Cullen, with or without any added… benefits.

It had Dorian telling Cullen, as firmly as he could with Cullen’s breath tickling his neck, “Bed. Now.” The way he ran his hands up Cullen’s chest before gently trying to separate them may not have been entirely necessary, but Dorian had always thought of himself as an indulgent person.

“Is that an invitation?” It was something between slurred and suggestive, but Cullen stepped back and Dorian could see the tease written into the smile on his face.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Your _own_.” At least Cullen didn’t look disappointed, didn’t seem upset by the rejection. “Goodnight, Cullen.” He needed Cullen to stumble off down the hall immediately or Dorian was going to reconsider his decision not to kiss the stupid grin off his face. 

Cullen surveyed him once more—or maybe he just couldn’t get his eyes to focus in one place for too long—and then with a mumbled _goodnight_ of his own, he ducked into his room.

Dorian woke late the next morning to the sound of Cullen retching in the bathroom. The only talk of the night before was Cullen groaning out, “This is why I don’t drink,” and Dorian knew it had nothing to do with getting a little handsy in the hallway, and everything to do with the hangover Cullen was nursing just as much as the mug of coffee Dorian made for him.

By time Cullen headed back to Honnleath a couple of days later, there had still been no mention of that night, nor any awkward moments that alluded to Cullen only pretending he didn’t remember, so Dorian thought it was safe to assume he really didn’t. Hopefully, by time they got back from break, Dorian thought, he’d have put it from his mind too.

**Author's Note:**

> 'author now has strong opinions about what sports (several) inquisition members would play' and now they're going to subject y'all to em:  
> \- Cullen absolutely would have been a fullback in his football days  
> \- Bull is the rugby prop you never wanted to be in a scrum against  
> \- Krem, also on rugby, would be the fly half--fast and pretty  
> \- Josephine played badminton in high school and still destroys everyone at the backyard barbeque  
> \- Cassandra's tall ass has the meanest spike in volleyball that you've ever seen
> 
> please be patient for chapter 2!
> 
> [Twitter](twitter.com/ramonadecember) & [Tumblr](ramonadecember.tumblr.com) if you ever wanna chat more!


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